


Old Faithful

by dracoqueen22



Series: Number One Crush [9]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Cock Rings, Dirty Talk, Face-Sitting, Facials, Light Bondage, M/M, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Squirting, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-29
Updated: 2015-07-29
Packaged: 2018-04-11 21:56:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4453853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracoqueen22/pseuds/dracoqueen22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hot, wet, and messy. Of course it was Sideswipe's idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Old Faithful

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fuzipenguin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuzipenguin/gifts).



“Ratch, what's this?”   
  
Ratchet surfaced from the haze of pleasure gradually sending him into a stupor. He forced his optics online as a groan escaped him at the query. It came from Sideswipe and usually when he heard such questions, he didn't like the sort of answers he had to give.   
  
Sideswipe could be irritatingly mischievous at times.   
  
Ratchet swept his glossa over his lips and moaned as Sideswipe's fingers pushed deeper into his valve, slowly stroking his internal nodes.   
  
“What's what?” Ratchet demanded. His thighs pushed further open to give Sideswipe more room to work.   
  
It was his day off, frag it. And if he wanted to let Sideswipe and Sunstreaker interface him into a pleasure-filled coma, he would. Which would be a lot more likely if Sideswipe would stop asking inane questions and get his fingers to moving.   
  
“This,” Sideswipe said.   
  
Two fingers crooked and Ratchet shivered as they pressed against the top of his valve and dragged down toward his anterior node. It felt good, but also highlighted exactly what Sideswipe was talking about. Ratchet knew why Sideswipe didn't recognize it, but he was also not in the mood to explain it because he got enough slag already for being old.   
  
Practically ancient really.   
  
“Because I was fingering Sunstreaker yesterday and I realized he didn't have it,” Sideswipe continued, chatting away because he had no filter or off-switch. “So then I checked myself and I didn't have it either. Then I asked Bluestreak--”  
  
“Sideswipe!” Ratchet interrupted with a squawk. He shoved his elbows into the berth and pushed himself upright.   
  
“What?” Sideswipe cycled his optics in a failed attempt to look innocent. “You know he doesn't mind.”   
  
“That's not the point!” Ratchet barked. His frame trembled. Sideswipe's fingers were still buried in him, only now they were stroking the duct at the top of his valve again and again.   
  
Ratchet shivered and his hips rolled onto Sideswipe's fingers, lubricant sloshing out around them. His spike began to peep from its housing. By full pressurization, Sideswipe wouldn't be getting a demonstration of the purpose for the duct, but still.   
  
Boundaries!  
  
“It doesn't matter anyway because he said he doesn't have it and neither does Jazz,” Sideswipe said with a shrug.   
  
A third finger pushed into Ratchet's valve, stretching him open. A thumb flirted with his throbbing nub before it wandered away. Ratchet's hands clenched as he moaned. Sideswipe was making it awful hard to hold on to his grump.   
  
“Smokescreen butted in and said he didn't have it and while we were pondering it, Ironhide stuck his two creds in,” Sideswipe continued blithely. “He laughed at all of us and then told me to ask you.”   
  
Ratchet swallowed and managed to dredge up a glare. He hoped it would be enough to convince Sideswipe to drop it.   
  
He should have known better.   
  
Sideswipe blinked and leaned closer, pushing his fingers deeper. The very tip of his index finger brushed one of Ratchet's deeper nodes. His engine revved, knees knocking against Sideswipe as he forced his legs wider. He rolled his hips, clenched down on Sideswipe's fingers, and called it a distraction.   
  
It didn't work. All Sideswipe did was lay his thumb back over Ratchet's throbbing node and circle it. Ratchet panted, helm falling back. His elbows wobbled  
  
“Well?” Sideswipe prompted, a wicked edge to his field now that implied he would torture Ratchet with pleasure until he got his answer.   
  
Ratchet groaned and let his helm hang. “It's an archaic system, Sideswipe,” he said. “Something older frame-types have and younger models don't. And it's not important! Can we get back to fragging now?”   
  
Did he sound defensive? Probably. Ratchet squirmed. Heat built in his lines, flooded his system, and his valve tightened on Sideswipe's fingers.   
  
Sideswipe shrugged. “Sure.” His thumb pressed harder, rubbing Ratchet's nub with greater pressure. Ratchet gasped and let his frame ball back to the berth, his pedes digging into the mattress. He pushed his pelvis toward Sideswipe, fragging himself on Sideswipe's fingers.   
  
“Here I was thinking it was a sexy mod you had,” Sideswipe continued as he leaned down, his lips brushing Ratchet's. “My bad.” He licked Ratchet's lips and slid out of reach when Ratchet tried to snag him for a kiss.   
  
Tease.   
  
On the other side of the room, Sunstreaker snorted. “All you ever think about is fragging,” he commented.  
  
“Not only,” Sideswipe retorted.   
  
Pressure returned to Ratchet's anterior nub. Sideswipe's thumb stroked tiny circles and Ratchet's hips picked up the motion. Pleasure lit up his array like lightning and Ratchet clutched at the berth covers, resisting the urge to pull Sideswipe down on top of him like some kind of pleasure-starved mechanimal.   
  
Ratchet looked toward Sunstreaker, who was barely paying either of them any attention. “Why don't you join us?” Ratchet asked. It would help distract Sideswipe for sure, because Sideswipe was still playing with Ratchet's valve and the upper duct and it was ramping up the charge faster than Ratchet cared to admit.   
  
Sunstreaker didn't answer.   
  
Sideswipe chuckled and Ratchet felt the vibrations on his chevron. Along with a slide of wet heat. He shuddered again. He loved it when Sideswipe licked his chevron.   
  
“He's Arting,” Sideswipe informed him as he licked Ratchet's chevron, his fingers pumping in and out in a steady rhythm. “He's too busy to take a bite of the delectable medic I have right here.”   
  
“To each his own, I suppose.” Ratchet moaned and grabbed at Sideswipe, trying to drag Sideswipe's lips to his.   
  
This time, Sideswipe was eager to kiss him, and also eager to slide between Ratchet's thighs and nudge his spike home.   
  
Ratchet figured that meant the matter was dropped.   
  
He should have known better.   
  
It was another two weeks before it came up again. By then they'd successfully returned two Decepticon attacks, managed both with no casualties and few injuries, and Ratchet was able to schedule two days off in a row. Which pleased his two lovers to no end. Sideswipe kept giving Ratchet sidelong looks, a smirk on his face indicating that he was thinking naughty thoughts.   
  
Par for the course, really.   
  
It was Sideswipe's idea to have some fun with a little bondage. Sunstreaker suggested, entirely innocent of course, that they tie Ratchet up for a change. And Ratchet, too lust-blind to think straight, readily agreed.   
  
So he lay on the berth, arms stretched above his helm and wrists secured to a hook in the wall behind him. His hips perched at the edge of the berth, right knee draped over Sunstreaker's left shoulder and left knee draped over Sideswipe's right shoulder. Both twins were situated between his legs, keeping them nice and spread and ready for their manipulations.   
  
Sunstreaker took full advantage. Ratchet had a moment to work his intake before Sunstreaker's talented mouth descended on his spike and swallowed. He moaned, threw his helm back, and tried to thrust up into Sunstreaker's mouth. The tip of Sunstreaker's glossa prodded at his transfluid channel as his denta raked against the ring of sensors around the head of Ratchet's spike.   
  
“Primus,” Ratchet breathed. His spike swelled, plunging again and again into the wet, sucking heat of Sunstreaker's mouth.   
  
His entire frame shook. More so when two fingers rubbed against the platelets of his valve, gathering up the spill of lubricant, and shoving past the plump rim. These were Sideswipe's, he knew, because Sunstreaker had a firm grip on his hips to direct the depth of Ratchet in his mouth.   
  
The handcuffs rattled. Ratchet's ventilations came sharper, faster. Heat flooded his entire frame and his knees shook. The first overload was always the fastest, the sharpest. His lovers took great pride in bringing him pleasure immediately and then spending the rest of the time teasing him into several long, drawn out overloads.   
  
Two fingers curled, again dragging along the small duct that had drawn Sideswipe's attention two weeks ago. Beneath the duct was a string of tiny pressure sensors, rarely struck by a spike, but at a perfect angle for fingers. Sideswipe seemed to be aiming for them on purpose, rubbing over and over the duct.   
  
Ratchet's hips bucked up.   
  
“Sideswipe!” he hissed, fingers curling into fists.   
  
“What?” he asked, pretending innocence. He still wasn't very good at it.  
  
Sideswipe rose up a little, peering down at Ratchet from between Ratchet's spread thighs.   
  
Ratchet opened his mouth to answer, but what emerged was a sound better described as a squeak as Sunstreaker focused his attention on the head of Ratchet's spike and sucked hard. Tingles swarmed through Ratchet's array and built up to a crescendo.   
  
Ratchet's cooling fans clattered. The fingers vanished from his valve, easing the pressure. Sunstreaker's glossa swirled around the head of his spike, and then all of the sudden the wet warmth was gone.   
  
Ratchet whimpered a protest, gaze swinging toward them. That was when the ring slid down his spike and notched at the base of it. He heard a click as it locked into place and then cinched. It squeezed tight until the pressure constricted his transfluid channel.   
  
“Wh-what are you two doing?” Ratchet demanded with a splutter. His hips thrust restlessly into the air, but there was neither mouth nor fingers on his spike or valve.   
  
Instead, he had Sideswipe looking down on him and Sunstreaker easing Ratchet's knee form his shoulder. He handed it over to Sideswipe, who tucked Ratchet's leg around his waist, and used his spare hand to drag his fingers up the length of Ratchet's spike.   
  
He felt the sensation like a distant caress. His spike throbbed. But the ring would prevent any overloads. In fact, it was just tight enough to trigger the automatic re-route. He suspected this was Sideswipe's intention, though Sideswipe should not have known enough to do so.   
  
Someone better offer an explanation and offer it now.   
  
“I was curious,” Sideswipe said with a wicked little smirk. He pinched the tip of Ratchet's spike, only to abandon it in the next second and head straight for Ratchet's valve.   
  
There was a flirting glance to Ratchet's anterior node before two fingers plunged past his valve rim and notched up against the ceiling duct.   
  
“And since you were being evasive, I asked Hoist,” Sideswipe continued.   
  
Two fingers stroked deep, tracing the duct where it emerged from the ceiling of his valve, directly beneath his spike housing, and ran all the way to the barely tangible slit just behind the interior of Ratchet's valve rim.   
  
“Hoist!” Ratchet hissed.   
  
Just wait until he got his hands on Hoist. Ratchet had warned him about indulging Sideswipe's idle curiosities. He was supposed to redirect all questioning back toward Ratchet.   
  
“Don't blame him,” Sideswipe said, still with that little smirk. Those two fingers continued to stroke the valve duct. Ratchet's valve twitched. “You should have answered my question first. Sunny, you wanna hand me that rope?”  
  
“Don't call me that!” Sunstreaker snarled from the other side of the room. In the wake of Sideswipe's plotting, Ratchet had forgotten Sunstreaker walked away.   
  
Now he returned with a coil of rope in his hands. Ratchet recognized it of course. It was strong enough to keep Sideswipe and Sunstreaker bound when needed, but easy to cut if they couldn't manage to undo the knots.   
  
Sideswipe rolled his optics. “Touchy,” he said, and withdrew his fingers from Ratchet's valve, popping them into his mouth for a quick clean. “You take right; I'll take the left.”   
  
They trussed him up in short order. Ratchet thought to protest, not because he didn't want it but because it was embarrassing and trust Sideswipe not to care anyway, frag it. But every time he formed the words with his vocalizer, a wandering hand groped him. Sunstreaker would squeeze his spike or Sideswipe would flick his anterior node or Sunstreaker would tickle behind his knee and Sideswipe would set one of his tires to spinning.   
  
And a part of him was proud, because his lovers were learning. The rope coiled around his knees in such a way as to not put undue pressure on his joints. Each leg was individually bound and the rope pulled back toward Ratchet's wrists before it was secured in place. This left Ratchet spread and open, his valve completely on display. It forced his frame into a slight curve also, putting a light pressure on his fluid tank.   
  
Just the kind of pressure, in fact, that would trigger the use of the valve duct that had captivated Sideswipe's attention.   
  
“There,” Sideswipe said, fake-dusting his hands off with a sense of self-satisfaction. “That should do it.”   
  
Ratchet couldn't move. He could wriggle his hips a little if he concentrated, but for the most part, he was immobile. He was completely at Sideswipe and Sunstreaker's mercy and his engine gave a telling rev at the thought. Primus, but he was hopeless when it came to these two.   
  
Sideswipe appeared between Ratchet's thighs again, his fingers tickling over Ratchet's bound spike before slipping further down to tease his external node. “Now where were we?”   
  
“You were giving me an explanation,” Ratchet growled. His optics flicked to Sunstreaker who was now hanging back, though watching them with his helm tilted.   
  
Ratchet knew that look. That was Sunstreaker's assessing look.  
  
“And what's your stake in this?” Ratchet demanded.   
  
“I already told you,” Sideswipe said. He leaned down and ex-vented hotly over Ratchet's straining spike. “Hoist gave me answers and now I'm curious.” His glossa lapped over the tip and Ratchet jerked as his sensors registered intense pleasure. “I want to see it.”   
  
Ratchet worked his intake. “Why?” he gritted out.  
  
“Cause I think it would be hot.” Sideswipe winked and licked Ratchet's spike again just as two fingers once more pushed into Ratchet's valve. It was an easy slide thanks to the copious amounts of lubricant he was producing. “I mean, it looks weird for the humans, but I'm betting it'll be hot for us.”   
  
“Humans!” Ratchet spluttered and tried to hold on to his dignity, but it was difficult with what felt like three fingers pumping in and out of his valve, flirting over his internal nodes and making them dance with pleasure.   
  
His cooling fans rattled at full bore. His limited motion was just enough to let his hips rock onto Sideswipe's fingers of their own accord. Pleasure flashed through his entire frame, his calipers quivering. With any luck, he'd overload before Sideswipe could get his demonstration.   
  
“You know Sideswipe and his research.” Sunstreaker offered a one-armed shrug, but his staring was still keen.   
  
Finally, he moved, but only to climb onto the berth next to Ratchet, his helm nuzzling against Ratchet's. His lips were a soft caress on Ratchet's audial, his left palm laying flat on Ratchet's abdomen beneath his windshield. His fingers stroked a slow rhythm with the occasional tap that resonated through Ratchet's internals.   
  
“I do,” Ratchet said. He swiveled a gaze down toward Sideswipe, who looked positively wicked as he slid three fingers in and out of Ratchet's valve.   
  
“Please?” Sideswipe asked, suddenly stilling. He withdrew his fingers and rested them on Ratchet's thigh, leaving a sticky print. “I'll untie you if you really want, Ratchet. But just so you know, I do want to try it. Please?”   
  
Ratchet had never learned how to say no to Sideswipe. Not when there was earnest desire in his lover's optics and when he trusted Sideswipe was honest in his wish. Sideswipe did not ask to taunt him, but because he was genuinely intrigued.   
  
“He wants to watch,” Sunstreaker said, choosing that moment to whisper in Ratchet's audial, dropping his vocals to that low register that vibrated perfectly against Ratchet's sensitive component. “He wants to watch you squirt all over his face.”   
  
Ratchet's fingers curled into fists as he shuddered. He felt lubricant ooze from his valve, his external sensor throbbing to the same beat as his internal ones.   
  
“I do,” Sideswipe near-whispered, his faceplate darkening with heat and his glossa flicking again and again over his lips.   
  
Sideswipe's oral fetish was no secret. His fingers returned to Ratchet's valve, only now they traced the rim. They circled his plump folds and teased along his external node. They painted lines of slow charge and Ratchet's ventilations began to quicken all over again. His spike continued to strain, trapped as it was by the ring. There would be no depressurizing until the ring was removed, but Sideswipe had timed it perfectly. There would be no lasting damage from the ring either.   
  
He really had gone to Hoist and asked a lot of questions, hadn't he? Ratchet was proud of him. And Sunstreaker, too. They'd both gotten bolder in asking for things lately, without all the runaround and subterfuge. This was actually the first time Sideswipe had given Ratchet a request without hiding behind a datapad first.   
  
Sideswipe nibbled on his bottom lip and gave Ratchet a look that was both heated and hopeful and Ratchet's last web of resistance crumbled.   
  
He rocked his hips as best he could given the ropes and loudly cycled a ventilation.   
  
“You don't have to stop,” he said and managed to push his knees further out, extending the invitation. “But it's going to take a lot of patience if you're going to get what you want.”   
  
Sideswipe beamed and leaned down, lapping a quick stripe up the center of Ratchet's valve. “I can be patient,” he said with a little hum of delight. “And this is hardly going to be a chore.” Another quick lick and Ratchet shivered. “You taste so good, Ratch.”   
  
He scoffed. “I taste no different than anyone else. Every mech's lubrication is the standard mix of--”  
  
Sunstreaker kissed him. In retrospect, it was probably better than listening to Ratchet babble on about bland medical information when Sideswipe was trying to be romantic. Sunstreaker's glossa plunged into his mouth and swept all around.   
  
But sensation was focused entirely on Sideswipe's mouth. On the teasing flicks of his glossa over Ratchet's valve. First, over the rim and then the plump folds of his valve. Then little tickles over his anterior node, making it jerk and throb. And then a deeper push of his glossa, curling up to stroke the ring of sensors just on the inside of his valve. And then moaning as Sideswipe pushed his glossa into Ratchet's valve as though it were a spike, his mouth putting pressure on Ratchet's rim.   
  
Ratchet shivered, hips dancing under Sideswipe's ministrations. His knees tugged at the ropes, but the knots were too well done. He couldn't move and that very fact was enough to send another wave of arousal through his frame.   
  
Sideswipe nipped and licked at him, igniting every sensor within reach of his glossa. His fingers stroked distracting patterns through the seams of Ratchet's hips and thighs.   
  
Ratchet moaned into Sunstreaker's mouth. His hips moved in little short, jerking motions. His ventilations stuttered. Sunstreaker sucked on his glossa as though pretending it were Ratchet's spike. His fingers were no less busy than his brother's, teasing around Ratchet's ventrum before slipping lower to pinch and stroke at his spike.   
  
Ratchet's engine revved the berth.   
  
And then Sideswipe slid a finger into his sopping wet valve. He swirled it all around the interior of Ratchet's valve, a tickling stroke that stirred Ratchet's arousal.   
  
Ratchet tipped his helm back, breaking free of Sunstreaker's mouth. He sucked in several gasping breaths.   
  
“You're so hot,” Sunstreaker murmured right before he attacked Ratchet's intake, lips and denta nibbling the delicate cables.   
  
They were going to kill him.   
  
Wet sounds floated up from below him as Sideswipe noisily sucked on his valve, first the swollen folds and then his equally swollen nub. Sideswipe latched his lips on it and suckled, glossa flicking against the throbbing node.   
  
Ratchet writhed, heat bombarding his array in peppered bursts. His hips were shaking, juttering up against Sideswipe's mouth. He could feel overload starting to threaten as a low keen rose in his vocalizer.   
  
And then it was over and Sideswipe stopped. Two fingers pushed into his valve, stroking and curling and wreaking merry havoc on his sensor nodes. But there was no sensation against his throbbing nub, only the cool brush of the room's airflow.   
  
Ratchet's vocalizer spat static.   
  
Sideswipe sounded smug. “Build and deny, right? That's what Hoist said,” he murmured and placed a teasing nip to Ratchet's thigh. Two fingers continued to pump steadily in Ratchet's valve.   
  
“F-fragger!” Ratchet managed to spit out. His frame trembled. Condensation slicked his plating. His internals ached.   
  
Sideswipe's fingers curled, dragging along the length of the duct and Ratchet's backstrut arched. His valve pulsed another spurt of lubricant. He felt it dribble free, gathering on the edge of the berth beneath his aft before it plopped to the floor.   
  
“You're so mean when you're on the edge,” Sideswipe purred. He pressed a kiss to the tip of Ratchet's spike, above Sunstreaker's teasing fingers. “That's okay though. I love you anyway.”   
  
Ratchet groaned and flopped his helm back against the pillow. Sunstreaker's mouth continued to work magic on his intake.   
  
“You're going to break me,” Ratchet said.   
  
A third finger added itself to his valve, adding a nice stretch that ached in all the best kinds of ways. Ratchet's ventilations stuttered. His hands clenched above his helm.   
  
“Only in the best kinds of ways,” Sideswipe promised.   
  
He added the fourth finger and pumped most of his hand into Ratchet, the heel of his palm grinding against Ratchet's anterior node with each push. The pressure was wonderful and inconsistent and Ratchet's nub pulsed. His valve quivered, calipers clicking as they cycled open and shut, open and shut, trying to grip a spike that wasn't present.   
  
Ratchet moaned as Sunstreaker's mouth returned to his. Not for a kiss, but so Sunstreaker could suck on his lips and press little nipping kisses everywhere.   
  
The pressure built again. Ratchet gasped, feeling the tension coil into a tighter knot in his abdomen. His valve clenched down. His spark hammered in his chassis. His entire frame shook, cooling fans whirring so hard they vibrated the berth.   
  
His hips rocked toward Sideswipe's fingers.   
  
Primus. He was so close. Just a little more--  
  
Sideswipe stopped.   
  
Ratchet howled his outrage as Sideswipe removed his fingers and left Ratchet aching. Left his anterior node pulsing and his valve restlessly clicking on empty air and copious amounts of lubricant trickling out of his valve.   
  
Ratchet cursed. He called Sideswipe every invective he could think of and then a few more for the sake of it. He thrashed in his ropes, almost tossing Sunstreaker from his side.   
  
He heard Sunstreaker snickering a little, even as Sunstreaker overheated with his own pleasure, spike revealed and rubbing against Ratchet's side. It left little streaks of lubricant in its wake.   
  
“Wow,” Sideswipe said. He ex-vented moist bursts of air from his mouth over Ratchet's valve. “Those were a few new ones, weren't they, Sunny?”   
  
“Don't call me that,” Sunstreaker growled.   
  
Sideswipe chuckled. The tip of his glossa flicked around the rim of Ratchet's valve, never once touching his throbbing node.   
  
“Gonna... get you for this,” Ratchet managed to snarl. His thighs were trembling. He wanted to reach down and finish himself off, but frag it, those damn ropes. No wonder Sideswipe had opted to tie him down.   
  
Sideswipe looked up long enough to wink at him. He shoved four lubricant wet fingers into his mouth and made a show of sucking them clean. A show that both Sunstreaker and Ratchet appreciated. Sunstreaker's rutting increased in earnest.   
  
“I could come down there and help?” Sunstreaker offered, sounding hungry all of the sudden.   
  
Sideswipe pulled his fingers free with a 'pop.' “No dice, bro. You'd give in and let him overload before I'm done.”   
  
They knew each other all too well.   
  
“Then let him get down there!” Ratchet snarled. He ached and he was ready to overload. Sideswipe had brought him to the edge twice already. Wasn't that enough? Did he sound frustrated? Because he felt it. And there was an unpleasant whine in his vocals that he was not proud of.   
  
Sideswipe paused, resting his hands on Ratchet's knees. For a moment, seriousness replaced the teasing in his field.   
  
“You want me to stop?” he asked, all traces of humor gone.   
  
Ratchet growled and bucked his hips. No, he didn't fragging want Sideswipe to stop. It was just embarrassing as the pit and frustrating to boot.   
  
Sunstreaker nuzzled into the side of his helm. “Use your words, Ratchet,” he purred into Ratchet's audial.  
  
Sideswipe's face twitched as though he were trying not to laugh.   
  
Oh, ha, ha, Sunstreaker.  
  
Ratchet rolled his optics and cycled a ventilation. “No,” he said, a bit more clearly this time. “Don't stop. And I mean that literally, you aft. Quit stopping.”   
  
Sideswipe chuckled, the tension easing out of his frame and languid sexuality returning in an instant. His hands slid down Ratchet's thighs before they framed Ratchet's throbbing, molten array.   
  
“I dunno, Ratch,” he purred as he ex-vented hotly over Ratchet's valve. “How'm I supposed to know you're ready.” A lap of his glossa and Ratchet keened, backstrut bowing.   
  
Oh, Primus, he was close. No amount of stopping would keep him from going now.   
  
“I'm ready,” Ratchet almost snarled.   
  
Sideswipe pushed two fingers into Ratchet's valve, achingly slow, both of them flicking over that ceiling duct. “I dunno,” he said, optics shifting to his brother. “Do you think he's ready, Sunny?”   
  
“Could be.” Sunstreaker threw a leg over Ratchet's hip, all but on top of Ratchet now. Both panels were open now, valve leaving a wet mess on Ratchet's hip. “Maybe.”   
  
Evil. They were both evil. Ratchet was going to get them for this. They wouldn't see him coming. Oh, no. He was going to grab them and tie them down and frag them both into stasis. See how they liked it then. Hah!  
  
“Guess I'll just have to find out,” Sideswipe said.  
  
His fingers retreated and Ratchet groaned his disappointment. But that melted away when Sideswipe returned, all four fingers pushing back into his valve. Yes! That was what he wanted.   
  
Ratchet canted his hips toward Sideswipe as best he could. He felt the flick of Sideswipe's glossa over his node and tossed his helm back. His spinal strut bowed, but Sunstreaker's weight kept him pinned.   
  
Sideswipe's fingers scraped lines of charge within his valve. Each lick of his glossa made Ratchet's pelvis jerk, entirely absent of his control. His cooling fans stuttered. Overheat warnings rose throughout his frame.   
  
His entire frame shook. He could hear his armor clattering. His valve ached. There was an itch deep within his valve that Sideswipe's fingers couldn't reach to scratch, but every nibble to his nub was lightning to his sensory net.   
  
Ratchet whimpered, dragging his bottom lip into his mouth as he sucked in air through his vents.   
  
“Yeah,” Sideswipe breathed with another hot ex-vent. “You're definitely ready.” He nipped at Ratchet's swollen rim, fingers continuing the slow and steady slide. “Aren't ya?”   
  
“S-Sides!” Ratchet gasped. He struggled to pull in a ventilation, his entire frame tense and quivering all at once.   
  
“That's it, baby,” Sideswipe all but crooned, panting just as hard, the wet sloppy sounds of his fingers a lewd accompaniment. “Overload for me. Come on, Ratch. You can do it.”   
  
Ratchet moaned. His fingers curled into tight fists. He felt like he was going to overheat, the harsh weight of Sunstreaker's frame against his right side only adding to the fire. He could feel Sunstreaker rutting against him, his spike leaving wet smears on Ratchet's armor and all he wanted was for Sunstreaker to drive into him, to spike him until he screamed.   
  
Sideswipe pinched his external node.   
  
Ratchet shrieked, thrashing in his ropes. The pressure was built almost to the point of pain. Four fingers fragged him hard and harder. A thumb found its way to his node and circled and circled and pressed. An index finger dragged along the length of the duct, one long, steady scrape and Ratchet lost it.   
  
He bucked, hard enough to scrape his and Sunstreaker's armor. His vocalizer glitched, screeching static as overload slammed into his frame. He felt his valve clamp down on Sideswipe's fingers, felt the charge spill up from under his armor in a massive wave. The pressure bubble burst and as lubricant spilled from his valve, transfluid gushed from his backflow line, spurting out of his valve in a wide arc.   
  
He heard Sideswipe moan and the wet splatter of his overload. He managed, through a haze of pleasure, to see himself squirting into the air and on Sideswipe's face. He heard Sideswipe's vocals, more static, sounding pleased and aroused. And then the tension in Ratchet's frame collapsed and he sagged, cooling fans spinning so hard he was shaking.   
  
“Holy slag,” Sideswipe was saying as Ratchet's audials quickly rebooted themselves. “That was so fragging hot, Ratch. Oh, slag. I gotta do that again.”   
  
“Sides,” Ratchet moaned, his valve still clenching, he could feel the spill between his thighs, making a mess.   
  
Sticky hands stroked down his thighs and he felt something nudge at his valve and his valve eagerly reach for it. He looked down to see Sideswipe fitting himself between Ratchet's legs, his spike pushing through the copious fluids painting Ratchet's array. Transfluid dripped from his face, but Sideswipe's optics were bright with need.   
  
“Can I?” Sideswipe breathed, looking up at Ratchet with a pleading need. His spike rubbed all along Ratchet's array, the head of it bumping his external node and making his hips jerk.   
  
Ratchet managed a nod and he moaned when Sideswipe wasted no time, sliding into him with ease thanks to all of the lubricant. Ratchet shook as his system, stalled in the midst of cycling down, all too eagerly started to rev back up. And then Sunstreaker's mouth was slotting over his, kissing him with sloppy abandon.   
  
Sunstreaker rocked against his hip again and again, spike adding to the mess already demanding Ratchet would need a thorough scrub later. He wished he could touch Sunstreaker, but they hadn't released his binds yet.   
  
Not that he suspected it would take much longer. Not with Sideswipe ventilating hard as he thrust into Ratchet, again and again. His spike easily parted the pleats of Ratchet's valve, the charged sensory nodes flicking against Ratchet's internal nubs and building him back to a crescendo. His spike was still pressurized but no longer ached above the ring. In fact, Ratchet doubted he would be able to overload from his spike at all right now. He would have to perform a systems reset before the failsafe's kicked off.   
  
But it was worth it. Primus, was it worth it. To see the adoration and arousal in Sideswipe's optics. To feel the pleasure in his field and to see the way it had taken over. To feel the swollen need of Sideswipe's spike as he sought overload. And it felt good, an overload so hot and heavy it was almost painful, one that left Ratchet feeling disgustingly sated and almost weak.   
  
“You feel so good,” Sideswipe babbled, his shoulders hunched, helm bowed as he gripped Ratchet's hips to drag him down for each thrust forward. “You gonna overload for us again? Gonna give us another?”   
  
Ratchet moaned into Sunstreaker's mouth and Sunstreaker broke away to bury his face in Ratchet's neck, hot ex-vents forcing his internal temperature higher.   
  
“Primus, Sides,” Sunstreaker groaned. His fingers flexed where they pressed over Ratchet's abdominal armor. “Gotta get a gag for you.”   
  
“Hah.” Sideswipe panted, his glossa sweeping again over his lips. “Don't pretend you don't like it.”   
  
Sunstreaker didn't answer. Not when he was sloppily mouthing Ratchet's throat as his field frenzily spiked. He shivered from helm to pede, moaning something that was an agglomeration of Ratchet and Sideswipe's names as he overloaded. He spilled over Ratchet's side, spike spurting transfluid in thin stripes.   
  
Sideswipe moaned. His fingers flexed. His optics were so bright as to be dim, blown with pleasure.   
  
And when Ratchet's valve rippled, Sideswipe lost all semblance of control. His hips snapped forward and he stiffened as he overloaded, shooting hot jets of transfluid deep into the depths of Ratchet's valve.   
  
Ratchet tossed his helm back. The hot spurts almost sent him into another overload. He could feel it hovering, just out of reach. Ratchet bucked up against Sideswipe, seeking that last brush of stimulation.   
  
But Sideswipe withdrew from him, a final spurt painting Ratchet's soaked array.   
  
“No!” Ratchet all but snarled, hips wriggling as best they could.   
  
“Don't worry. I'm not done with you.” Sideswipe panted and dropped to his knees.   
  
Ratchet didn't have time to vocalize his confusion. At least, not before the wet swipe of Sideswipe's glossa over his valve and throbbing anterior node register. He shouted, a completely unintelligible noise and rocked toward Sideswipe.   
  
He heard the red twin give a hum of satisfaction before Sideswipe's mouth latched on to Ratchet's nub and sucked.   
  
If it weren't for the ropes, Ratchet might have bucked right off the berth. As it was, his backstrut bowed and he overloaded with a near-shriek, overload tearing through his system with all the subtlety of a strafing run. He thrashed, pleasure a lightning bolt through his lines.   
  
A smaller spurt of transfluid eked from the overflow duct and then it was over and Ratchet was hot and panting for a desperate vent. Sideswipe lapped at him through the tremors of overload, the delicate flicks of his glossa like a caress.   
  
Finally, Sideswipe climbed to his pedes, smirking as he wiped his mouth with his hands. “Was it good for you?” he purred.   
  
Ratchet rolled his optics toward Sideswipe as Sunstreaker rallied himself to sit up and untie all the ropes. “I should be asking you that. It was all your idea.”   
  
“Yeah, but you feeling good was part of the process.” Sideswipe tilted forward, knees bracing on the edge of the berth as he lay across Ratchet's frame and tried to snag a kiss. “You were so sexy, Ratchet.” Hot plating seared as it pressed to Ratchet's. He could feel the hot press of Sideswipe's spike against his inner thigh.   
  
Again? He shouldn't be so surprised. Sometimes, Ratchet swore Sideswipe's libido ran in overdrive.   
  
The ropes fell away and Ratchet's legs dropped, though not without a complaint from his hip joints. He hissed a ventilation, but Sideswipe's hands snagged his thighs, encouraging Ratchet's legs to wrap around his hips. The cuffs fell away from his arms as well and Ratchet lowered them with a grateful look at Sunstreaker.   
  
One the yellow twin returned with a small smile as he took Ratchet's nearest hand and pressed a kiss to it, his thumbs gently massaging at kinked cables.   
  
“It was sexy,” Sunstreaker agreed, his mouth hot and wet over Ratchet's fingers. “Maybe next time I can try.”   
  
“It's messy,” Sideswipe said. He rocked his spike against Ratchet's valve, playing around in the fluids gathered there.   
  
One hand curled around Ratchet's spike, giving him a few light strokes before Sideswipe was kind enough to remove the ring from the base of Ratchet's spike. No longer prevented from doing so, Ratchet's spike sank back into its housing. It would be hours before his array reset and he could use his spike again. Not that he minded. Sideswipe rocking against his valve was enough to send nice tingles all through Ratchet's frame.   
  
“But I like messy,” Sideswipe added. He rolled his hips, spike pushing against Ratchet's array. The tip of it prodded at the folds of his valve and brushed over his anterior node. It slid down beneath his valve, skittering over the delicate plating of his aft.   
  
Ratchet shivered and relaxed into the berth. This was kind of nice, too. He didn't know if he could dredge up another overload anytime soon – bypassed spike overloads tended to drain his entire system, especially after that second one -- but Sideswipe seemed like he was in search of a third.   
  
Ratchet patted his chest. “Come here, Sunny. I think we neglected you a bit.”   
  
“I wouldn't call it that. I did get a show,” Sunstreaker said. He nipped at Ratchet's fingertips playfully. His optics gleamed.   
  
“And now I'm going to get another one,” Sideswipe said with utter glee in his voice. “Come on, Sunny. You know how much I like watching you ride Ratchet's mouth.”   
  
“You do put on a good show.” Ratchet grinned and hooked his finger on Sunstreaker's lip, a light touch followed by a light tug. “Come on. I barely got to touch either of you.” He put a little wheedle into his tone and the hint of a pout on his lips.   
  
Sunstreaker never could say no to him when he did that. Sideswipe was right, at least. A little bit of begging and Sunstreaker would have given Ratchet his overload earlier, probably before Sideswipe would have gotten the show he wanted.   
  
Sunstreaker rolled his optics but at least he obeyed, sliding up to a perch on Ratchet's chestplate. He leaned back, his elbows braced on Ratchet's windshield, while he propped his pedes on the wall behind Ratchet. This gave Ratchet an up close and personal view of Sunstreaker's lovely, intricate valve. Always a delight to pleasure.   
  
He rumbled appreciatively, slid his hands under Sunstreaker's aft, and dragged the yellow twin closer, licking a long, wet stripe up Sunstreaker's valve. Sunstreaker moaned and shivered, chin dropping to his chestplate. His valve pulsed, already sluggishly leaking lubricant and anterior node swollen with need. That spike overload had apparently not been enough.   
  
Surprise, surprise.   
  
“Tastes good, doesn't he?” Sideswipe asks, vocals almost sounding as though they were coming from a distance. He chose that moment to slide into Ratchet with a slow push, as though savoring every wet, dripping inch of Ratchet's valve.   
  
“Always,” Ratchet said. His words vibrated against Sunstreaker's valve, activating the smaller sensors that formed a ring around the rim.   
  
Sunstreaker shivered again. He sucked on his bottom lip, fingers scraping at Ratchet's paint where his hands rested against Ratchet's armor.   
  
Ratchet traced the little black nodes with his glossa, paying special attention to each one successively. In that moment, he wished he could get his spike online, just so he could watch Sunstreaker ride it. Sunstreaker's hip dance was one of his favorites.   
  
To prove it, he inched Sunstreaker closer and sealed his mouth over Sunstreaker's valve, glossa sliding inside and curling up, nudging at the sensor just behind the rim. A full frame shudder shook Sunstreaker. A pulse of lubricant flooded Ratchet's mouth. He could taste the heavy charge in it.   
  
Sunstreaker was close already. He'd probably been riding the hard edge for a while.   
  
“You two make a pretty picture,” Sideswipe purred, his thrusts slowly increasing, pausing every few to grind the head of his spike against Ratchet's ceiling node.   
  
It produced little more than a mild buzz, however, which was pleasant in the way a massage was pleasant. There would, sadly, be no more overloads for Ratchet tonight. He actually wondered if he hadn't blown a few fuses.   
  
“My two favorite mechs,” Sideswipe added.   
  
Sunstreaker panted, his hips making short, rocking motions toward Ratchet's mouth. He rolled his helm back, looking at his twin upside down. “Don't you ever shut up?”   
  
“Not if I can help it,” Sideswipe replied cheerfully. “But in the spirit of obliging, I'll just have to occupy my mouth.” He leaned over and Ratchet was treated to the sight of them kissing, something that never failed to make his spark flip.   
  
The two of them were gorgeous separately, but together, were works of art. And the sight of Sunstreaker stretched back and Sideswipe leaning forward, of their glossa tangling together in an upside kiss was one Ratchet saved for later. Yeah, he took a picture. Then he went back to the task in front of him.   
  
Namely, enjoying the delectable valve on display for him. Sunstreaker's sensor nodes were blinking in brightly lit arousal. His valve was swollen and hot, dripping with lubricant. Ratchet licked into Sunstreaker's valve, enjoying the sweetness of his lubricant, and was reward with Sunstreaker shuddering. His hips rolled toward Ratchet's mouth in wordless encouragement.   
  
“You gonna come?” Sideswipe asked against his brother's lips, in between little kisses that made Sunstreaker quiver. Sideswipe's hips picked up in pace as his grip on Ratchet's thighs tightened. “You gonna gush all over Ratchet's face?”  
  
Sunstreaker's intake flexed. His hands scraped Ratchet's armor. “You're a menace,” he moaned, but Ratchet noticed, his valve leaked a steady dribble of lubricant.   
  
“A menace who likes to see you riding Ratchet's mouth,” Sideswipe purred. He nuzzled his helm against his brother's and then stole his lips for another kiss.   
  
Sunstreaker moaned and abruptly reached out, wrapping his arms around Sideswipe's neck. It lengthened his frame, stretching him out on top of Ratchet. He hummed his approval as he went back to licking and sucking at Sunstreaker's valve, reading the urgency in Sunstreaker's hip movements.   
  
“That's it,” Sideswipe encouraged with another nuzzle. His lips continued to brush over Sunstreaker's. He looked up past Sunstreaker though, locking optics with Ratchet and adding in a wink. “Come on, bro. Ratchet's workin' awful hard down there for you. Aren't you gonna reward him?”   
  
Primus. It was almost enough to make Ratchet stir again. Almost.   
  
Ratchet licked at Sunstreaker's valve, sucking at his node-lined rim and pressing his glossa as deep as he could reach it. He made an appreciative noise of encouragement. Sunstreaker bucked against his mouth, backstrut arched.   
  
“Soon as you overload, I'm going to bend you all the way back, and come all over your mouth” Sideswipe continued, like the wicked demon he was.   
  
Ratchet groaned. Sunstreaker shivered. His entire valve pulsed against Ratchet's lips, oh so close to overload.   
  
“Gonna make you swallow my load, lick me clean,” Sideswipe said. “And Ratchet's gonna watch. Probably even take pictures. You know how much he loves a show.”   
  
“Sssides!” Sunstreaker cried. He shuddered from helm to pede and with a buck against Ratchet's mouth, he overloaded, pedes scraping the wall behind Ratchet.   
  
Primus, but he was sexy.   
  
And Sideswipe was chuckling with self-satisfaction, peppering his brother's faceplate with kisses.   
  
“That's right,” he was saying. “Just like that.”   
  
Sunstreaker sagged as the last of the tremors faded. His cooling fans spun, desperately trying to cool his overheated frame. He murmured something that Ratchet didn't catch but it made Sideswipe chuckle.   
  
“Yeah, babe,” he said with another wink Ratchet's direction. “I meant it.” He looked up at Ratchet. “Wanna give me a hand here? Sunny says he's thirsty.”   
  
Primus save him from the human porn Sideswipe kept watching. Ratchet rolled his optics but obeyed, lifting on Sunstreaker's hips and pushing down as Sideswipe extracted himself from Ratchet's valve.   
  
A bit of a scramble, an unfortunate elbow in Ratchet's midsection, and Sideswipe had Sunstreaker right where he wanted, tilted over the edge of the berth, his hands wrapped around Ratchet's thighs, his pedes planted flat on the berth. And Sideswipe leaning over him, fingers wrapped around his own spike as he stroked himself furiously, aiming his spike toward Sunstreaker's mouth.   
  
Sideswipe was panting, a look of intense concentration on his face, and Ratchet wasn't overly surprised when he overloaded less than a minute later. He grunted as he spurted over his brother's face, Sunstreaker extending his glossa to catch every pulse. Sideswipe shuddered and leaned over, giving his brother another scorching kiss that no doubt tasted of his own transfluid.   
  
Dead. They were going to kill Ratchet dead. Which was okay, he supposed, so long as he got a trip to the washracks first. He was covered in fluids.   
  
Sideswipe pulled away from his brother with a grin on his face and stretched his arms over his helm. “Well,” he said brightly. “That was fun. When can we do it again?”   
  
Sunstreaker sighed.   
  
Ratchet groaned.   
  
“Washracks first,” Ratchet demanded. “And then you both owe me a massage.”   
  
“Deal,” Sideswipe said. He winked and reached down to stroke Sunstreaker's cheek with his fingers. “Seem fair, bro?”   
  
Sunstreaker nuzzled into his hand. “Sounds good to me.”   
  
Fair was fair, after all.   
  


****


End file.
